The Roadtrip
by Paperflowers596
Summary: What happens when you mix Jason Voorhees, a random baby at his cabin doorstep, and the arrival of Fred Krueger? A crackfic, filled with possible disaster and a few laughs. Warning: very cheesy with violence and coarse language.
1. Chapter 1

CAMP CRYSTAL LAKE, NJ 10:32 pm.

It's a Friday; Friday the 13th to be exact. The chilling waters of Crystal Lake lay calm and still under a full moon. They weren't so calm until dusk, when the sun was setting just under the brim of the horizon. The last shred of orange light dipped into the edge of the lake, turning the clouds the color of rose petals and the sky an ominous deep violet in contrast. Just as the slowly calming fiery sphere sank below the water, so did they. Every last sinning invader, all of them in skimpy bikinis and swimming trunks. They were now corpses sunken at the bottom of the endlessly stretching body of water, once known as a refuge belonging to Camp Crystal Lake, now known as Camp Blood.

The horror was written on each of their faces, reflecting their gory deaths. Cold, still, and unmoving flesh and bones just waiting to decompose with the rest. (Who knew how many "the rest" were made up of?) The blood was always drained of them and floated to the top in crimson clouds. The odors of its substance formed into a coppery, aquatic stench. No one was there to take in its presence, except for him…


	2. Chapter 2

A former all time favorite of the campers was playing at a low volume on the stereo. All was peaceful, the job was finished, and Jason had time to relax after his holiday errands. This was his favorite day of every year, the calendar marked that special time when not a single ingrate would live and breathe his air. Now, after the forest was free of footsteps and cabins ridden of drunken laughter, the infamous slasher had time to himself. He listened to the tune of "He's Back (The Man Behind the Mask)" and as he listened he placed the 47th clay roof onto another palm-sized log cabin. The delicate eves fit snugly on the paste and dried as Jason viewed his masterpiece. His hand-crafted replica was almost complete.

Between long naps and killing sprees, the masked murderer had been working on a 3x2 ft. homemade Camp Crystal Lake. It took him weeks but now it looked beautiful and he didn't have to pay a penny for the supplies. Moss and bits of lichen torn from oak trees were glued around the lake which he painted onto a blank space of cardboard; navy blue with touches of white rather than the brownish green it was in reality. Jason liked the look of a small ocean rather than a murky pond. It looked twice as better this way. The moss resembled shrubs and greenery. The cabins were placed in the exact locations where they were on the real Camp Crystal Lake. Jason had lived there for years; he knew every inch of the camp by heart.

The old stereo droned fuzzily at a barely audible setting, but Jason was glad he stole it from one of the cabins, along with the Alice Cooper tape he was playing.

All the replica needed was a few more mini pines and cedars at the back of Cabin 19 and he could show it to Mother, who would be very proud. (Or at least Mother's ghost, who seemed to visit her son very often.)

As Jason sat on the uncomfortable stool in his basement, he rested his chin in the cup of his palm and set his elbow on the worktable. The basement was really just another underground room connected to a series of dirt-walled tunnels. A wooden ladder stood steeply slanted, ascending into an opening in the bathroom upstairs.

Remembering Mother's death, Jason was overcome with bitter frustration and sorrow. Longing pulled at him; how he wished he could have stopped that blond bitch from decapitating her, or if only Mother were immortal like him. Now the comfort was buried in memories and the killer sat alone with only the somber glare of the hanging lamp above the table to accompany him.

Interrupting his misery, a strange sound muffled through the walls from upstairs. Jason spun around in his seat and concentrated on the noise. It was high pitched, and from what he could tell, it was coming from outside. He figured it was probably a stray cat or some kind of animal and turned back around. The miscellaneous supplies were scattered over the vast work area.

Jason picked up a small paintbrush and filled the end, dunking it into a can of paint. With quick strokes, he colored the west side of Cabin 47 that was already dried and pasted to the board. He decided to give it a second coat of bright red paint. It was a generic brand, named "Cardinal Red" for the color, but the shade suited just fine. It would have been easier to paint the cabin if it weren't glued down, but he didn't plan ahead so it was too late.

Jason turned the board this way and that, and finally managed to work around it and got the left side done. He turned the board clockwise and just as he was about to paint the border around the miniscule front door, he heard it again. That shrill, piercing wine that sounded like a lamb being strangled. Jason reached across the table and turned the volume dial on the stereo all the way down. It clicked off. Silence.

He waited several seconds until it started up again. The continuous noise wasn't loud enough for a migraine, just loud enough to escalate the killer's mild irritancy into burning curiosity and fury. He grumbled and dropped the paintbrush down in defeat, leaving cherry red paint splatters all over the tabletop. He grasped the hilt of his machete and slid it out of its sheath connected to his belt loop. The sound of a brisk, metallic "shing" rang in his ears familiarly along with pounding. Anger pumped blood through his arteries furiously. He could nearly hear his heartbeat thudding in his chest.

Jason started up the ladder, not leaving one foot on a rung for more than a split second. The sharp crying got louder, kept hesitating and repeating. He got to the top of the ladder and with one swift move of his arm he struck the trap door and it flew open with a crack. His rage left damage in the floorboards but what did he care? The place was trashy anyway. The walls were rotting and it was left unkempt for years. The candles around the claw-footed tub were unlit now, and the towering slasher's night vision guided him through the darkness.

The echoing screams were most definitely coming from outside, and they became easier to hear in the living room. Jason readied his weapon and strode to the front door. Flick. The deadbolt unlocked. He turned the doorknob slowly and...SLAM! The cabin door crashed into the wall on the front porch. The dangerous man wielded his machete high in the air, ready to attack. But there was nothing there to penetrate the silence but the usual chorus of crickets.

He cupped a hand behind his ear and listened. It was relatively quiet as most nights.

Until it began, so clearly this time it nearly ruptured Jason's eardrums! He clapped his hands over both of his deformed ears with a startle and looked down. What he saw made him lower the blade in sudden realization. It was…a baby?

Jason hadn't seen one in such a long time' he couldn't remember when he last saw a human baby in person. He was surprised he even recognized it.

The shrieking cries clamored through the woods and all the tall, murderous man could do was look down and cock his head to the side in wonder. What in the living hell was an infant doing at HIS doorstep? Jason Elias Voorhees had no business in taking care of a small child.

The tiny creature's eyes were shut tightly, its cheeks rosy, and had fine, mousy brown hairs on its soft scalp. Its tiny doll-like hands were clenched into fists and its arms thrashed wildly as the sobs grew more and more intense. Finally after studying the baby, Jason scooped it up as best as he could and held it in his strong arms.

The infant carried on, and he could hardly stand it. How could a creature so small make so much _noise?_ He couldn't recall anything this aggravating, not even the mindless teens having sex in _his _cabins! Jason winced at the awful crying and had no other choice but to carry it inside.

He closed the door gently and set the baby gingerly on the couch. Blocking out the distressed cries, Jason pondered the situation. Someone must have just left the baby on the porch step when he was out killing; he didn't know when he came back by nightfall because he took one of the secret back tunnels on his way home.

What inconsiderate morons; leaving a baby on a doorstep. Jason thought this was irresponsible, idiotic, and definitely unoriginal. If he ever found the imbeciles who did this, he'd slice their throats to bits! Not only did they leave the poor kid alone, but with no blanket, nothing to keep it warm. The only thing it wore was a diaper, most likely loaded.

Oh, the smell. It was revolting. No wonder the kid was crying. Jason looked around frantically. He was a killer, not a babysitter! This was ridiculous. He would either have to change the smelly shit rag or deal with the fumes. Not knowing what else to do, he trotted over to the rundown kitchen and tore the white curtains from the tiny square window above the sink. He started walking over to the wailing infant and remembered something. The white powder. What was it they used? It was something like...talcum powder? He carelessly grabbed a bad of bleached flour from the top shelf and took both items to the baby.

Ignoring the wails and screams, Jason managed to open the sticky tabs and take the diaper off, tossing it onto the bare floor. The stink of waste traveled up through the holes in his mask, and he slapped a hand over the nose hole in disgust. He almost threw up. This was much worse than the smell of victims he slaughtered after they kicked the bucket. It was now or never. Jason ripped open the paper bag and threw a handful of flour on the baby. It was then when he looked down and saw: it was a boy.

'_All the more trouble,' _Jason thought.

The dust from the flour rose up and made Jason cough dramatically and flail his arms about like a madman! The baby abruptly stopped crying and made an interested expression which turned into a smile. He started laughing, the innocence and joy filling the room.

Jason stopped his coughing fit after the flour dispersed and looked down, tipping his head to the side. He was oblivious to how much of a fool he made out of himself and was caught off guard from the sudden mood change.

A clam-sized soft hand reached out and touched another hand, 3 times its size with blackened fingernails. The 6 foot tall mass murderer stared blankly down at his hand. The baby's hand was wrapped around his thumb, tiny fingers coiled around it. Then Jason looked at its precious face, big brown eyes looking intently up at his hockey mask. Jason's golden eyes twinkled a bit in return.

He looked at the clock: 10:58. Two hours and his favorite holiday would be over.

'_What a strange gift to be given on Friday the 13__th__,' _he thought, looking back at the child whose cheeks were still stained with fresh tears.

He took the curtain in his hand which was draped over the arm of the couch and carefully dabbed at the small face of a child that was now his responsibility. Jason thought this over a bit. He'd have to give up the kid sooner or later. He'd find a much more suitable home for him. Killers weren't meant to be fathers, nor did they usually intend to be.

He lifted its legs and placed the curtain under its bottom and wrapped it around the front. He realized the curtain was too long to wrap around once but not long enough to wrap around twice. Jason's masked eyes darted around for his machete, then fixed on he ground in front of the door where he had dropped it in utter shock. He shook his head in shame of being so skittish and picked up his weapon.

He stood back over the baby. It was an easy task for Jason, one slice here and a slick cut there. He discarded the rectangles of fabric and gazed out the window across the coffee table, somewhat puzzled on what to do next.

After a quick brainstorming, the cleverly masked stalker made his way into the bathroom and down the ladder. Once he was in the basement, Jason picked up a roll of duct tape from the work table. His focus turned to the hand crafted replica. The second coat of paint was dry, and really suited Cabin 48 well. The color had changed to an even brighter shade of red.

An unpleasant nostalgia crept over him; the memory of being hung and defeated in that abandoned red barn. He could almost feel the rope tightening around his neck and hear the pulley unraveling; the frightening sound. He shuddered at the thought. Damn kids. But he always came back; rose above the ashes of a battle. Always.

While Jason was underground, he remembered something. A woven basket mother had given him on Easter, he was eight years old and he'd kept it all these years. On the low shelf built into the table underneath the surface and connected to the legs, he picked up the handle and looked at the wicker basket. It was yellow, a faded yellow with the artificial grass still lining the bottom. It would have to do.

When Jason got back to the living room, the baby was playing with the machete. A red flag arose in Jason's mind and he dashed over to the couch and delicately pried the infant's fingers from the metal blade and slid it back in its sheath. He sighed in relief as the infant's face sank from bemusement to boredom. Then he smacked the heel of his palm to his mask in remorse.

How could he leave a machete with a baby no older than six months? The baby. He started giggling at the slapstick hilarity Jason put off, which seemed to calm the killer, whose smile was concealed. The adorable laughter continued, and just as Jason was about to finish changing him, the front door flew open by force and made a big SNAP against log wall outside.

In the entrance, stood the burnt man in all his glory; an evil and dark grin on his mutilated face. There he was; the Christmas sweater and fedora-wearing mongrel.


	3. Chapter 3

"Did ya miss me Hockey Puck?" Freddy growled, and cackled obnoxiously.

Jason whipped out his machete, ready to defend himself and the baby. His thoughts flew by in a blur; emotions swirled in a brew of wrath, bewilderment, and slight fear. Fred chortled.

"What's the matter, racing thoughts?"

Jason turned his head to the right, glaring at the dream monster. He pinched himself, clenched his eyes shut and opened them again but couldn't wake up.

"You won't wake up, Voorhees, so don't even try. You know why?"

The Camp Blood killer stared at his nemesis in question.

"Because you're not asleep."

Jason took a while to register the idea. How was that possible?

'_How—what-why is he here?'_

"I have my ways."

'_B-but how—are you-reading my—mind?'_

"I might not be as strong and powerful here as I am in the dream world, but I've adopted a very fateful friend. His name's telepathy," Fred replied with a smile.

'_Oh joy_,' Jason thought back bitterly, _'let's just get this over with.'_

And with that, he went at Fred with the machete, silver blade flashing with danger.

"Whoa there, Hockey Puck! Slow down!"

Jason continued backing Freddy into the corner threateningly, ready to impale his guts and watch the waterfall of blood pour from his mouth.

" 'Ey! I said slow down! WAIT, you fucktard and listen for a god damned minute!"

Jason ignored this and raised the sword, swinging at his arch enemy wildly.

"For the love of Satan, STOP!" Freddy screamed and stopped the blade with his armored glove, the four steel knives colliding with the machete's large blade. He pushed Jason's arm away roughly and cursed like a sailor, spitting out just about every profanity in the English language known to man and ended with a "BITCH!"

His fist smashed into the wall with a boom and the baby made its presence known and began wailing, almost louder than earlier. Jason was so caught up in Freddy's not-so-welcomed arrival that he nearly forgot about the kid.

'_Look what you did, you idiot!' _Jason's thought beamed with frustration.

"Well, what do we have here?" Freddy's brow (or at least where his brow should be, but left burnt off from the Elm Street fire) furrowed. He stepped forward to examine the screaming bundle of distress.

"Umm… so who's the mother?" was all he could manage to mumble.

'_Hey, don't look at me, Pizza Face! The kid was just left on my doorstep.'_

Fred felt a surge of irateness hit a nerve from the rude remark, but shrugged it off and masked it by mocking him.

"Aw, isn't that the cutest thing? Did the stork already fly away?" Freddy chuckled at his lame joke and clapped his hands together.

'_This is serious, Kruger,' _Jason warned. '_This isn't a toy, it's a living, breathing, human baby. He's my responsibility until I find him a better home.'_

Freddy let his jaw gape open and he stared in confusion. This had to be Jason's twin brother…the good twin. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Jason…Jason E. Voorhees. The one who can kill ten people at once with no skin off his nose. And he cant get rid of a damn baby…this is priceless."

Jason slumped his shoulders in embarrassment. _'I can't kill a baby. I just can't,' _he admitted shyly.

It was true. Jason had no trouble killing all of the teenagers who entered the camp. They were sinning, doing things that Mother told him were very wrong. They deserved to die. But a baby…how could he ever? It was just too innocent and young, and knew barely a thing about the world.

"Oh, that's just precious," Freddy laughed. "May as well name the snot-nosed little shit and get the adoption papers. I'll be your co-signer!"

Jason's hazel eyes hardened into topaz stones and slanted demonicly in an outraged glare. He thrusted the machete into the wall, nearly smashing the window next to it. The curved tip thunked loudly and buried itself into the oak wood log.

"No need to get pissy, Hockey Puck. Learn to take a joke once and a while! I'll take this ugly rugrat out of your hair."

Jason's eyes narrowed into dark yellow slits, as Freddy clinked his blades together.

"Well son, hope ya had a good life. It's time to say goodbye," and with that the apathetic dream demon raised his sharply clawed hand and brought it down towards the infant's face, which casted growing anxiety and doom as his possible perishing fate grew closer and closer…

Jason came in just in time and shielded the baby with its close brush of death. He grabbed Freddy's arm in a vice-like grip and threw it out of the way, letting it fly back and hit him in the face.

"SHIIIIITT!" he screamed after the burning sting of fresh gashes on his forehead blossomed instantly. "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?"

'_What in the HELL do you think you're doing?' _Jason demanded.

"I think I was _about _to put that kid out of its misery! I can only imagine what you've put the damned thing through. Curtain diapers? And what's this? Flour substituted for baby powder? Tisk tisk. You must have lost more of your damaged brains Hockey Puck, I may as well call CPS right now!"

'_Shut UP, Krueger! I'm doing the best I can! I'd like to see you do any better. You child molesting, burnt up old bastard!'_

All Freddy wanted to do was go back to square one and plunge his knives into that stupid, slow asshole's eye sockets, just like he'd done at the end of their show-down on the flame-covered dock. But Jason was spared that reoccurring dose of agony, because dear old Krueger had a goal in mind that he was determined to accomplish.

"Listen up, Voorhees! Under any other circumstance, I'd fight you to the death right here and now, but I've swallowed my pride and I've found a portal to the mortal world to ask for your help."

Jason crossed his arms over his chest and waited for an explanation.

"Well, the thing is…" Fred began hesitantly, half-believing what he was about to ask, "I want vengeance. I can't get revenge by myself this time. You're the only one I know who's as bad ass I am who can help me with this…" Freddy took a breath. He wanted to barf. The last part was a total lie, but just the words coming out of his mouth tasted terrible.

"Not a word or stifled laugh from you, Porky!"

Jason pushed that aside. '_Vengeance on whom?' _

"Carrie. My ex."

'_Carrie…?'_

"White."

The masked man thought this over and realization struck him on the skull like a brick, along with sheer terror. He gasped.

'_C-Carrie W-W-White?" his thought stuttered. "THE Carrie White? Carrie fucking WHITE?' _

"Yes, ma'am," Freddy answered.

'_C-Carrie, from Maine…Prom night…electrical fire…town disaster…Chamberlain…"_

"That would be my Carrie," Fred answered nonchalantly, picking at a chipped fingernail.

Jason looked like a computer spazzing from a system malfunction. His left eye twitched and his thoughts kept stammering. '_C-C-C-Carrie…back in '72, crazy Catholic m-mother—"_

"For fuck's sake Voorhees, get a grip!" his non-gloved hand thwacked across Jason's mask but didn't snap him out of anything, not even close.

Then one word escaped his mind, '_Telekinesis.'_

He went blank for a moment and stood, cold and frozen as stone. He couldn't move a muscle. Then Freddy started worrying. He waved a small, silver knife from his gloved hand back and forth in front of Jason's mask.

"Hockey Puck…hello? Anyone there?"

Jason kept continued staring at nothing, until the shock was broken by Freddy's fist brought down on Jason's cranium. "WAKE UP!"

Jason shook himself out of it and uttered a whispered thought. '_No.'_

"What d'ya mean NO?"

'_No. No. NO,' _Jason dropped his machete to the ground and it clattered.

"What's your problem? Jesus Ka-rist!" Freddy gave Jason a dirty look, his face wrinkled in exasperation and disgust.

'_Pizza Face, I've already dealt with a bitch with TK, and let me tell you, it was no pretty sight.'_

Freddy sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes wearily. "I never said it was going to be easy, but come on, we're the most famous slashers around! Buck up, champ, we can't let a chick kick our asses. It's time to toughen up."

'_If you're so tough, why can't you finish the job yourself? Learn to fight your own battles, Krueger.'_

"Use some common sense, Hockey Puck! I can't exactly fight a battle on my own when I know I'm gonna lose. My worst fear is involved here, and you know what that is."

Jason was slow to this. _'Heights?' _ He guessed stupidly.

"No. Think again. Come on, you know this."

'_Water?'_

"That's your fear, remember?"

'_Oh, right! Hmm…chairs?'_

Freddy was getting annoyed and gritted his teeth. "Try…AGAIN…Voorhees. This time use that tiny cluster of brain cells you have left."

Jason thought it was fun to annoy Fred a little. This time he really played dumb. '_Err…waffles?'_

"Fire, you dumb shit! Fire!" he stomped his foot and began jumping up and down yelling, "FIRE, FIRE, FIRE!"

'_Where?' _Jason looked around frantically. He ran into the kitchen and grabbed the emergency fire extinguisher and dashed back to the living room. He aimed the fire extinguisher towards Freddy.

"Don't!" Freddy warned.

Too late. Jason started spraying the fire extinguisher all over the living room, making sure not to hit the baby, so he left the couch the way it was. Other than that, he went crazy and covered everything in sight.

"Stop, STOP!" Freddy bellowed.

But Jason didn't stop. He didn't stop until the entire can was used up. He tried spraying more, but only air would come out. He tossed the empty can aside.

'_That should take care of it,' _Jason concluded happily. He scanned over the room. Where was Freddy? '_Pizza Face? Where are you?' _he thought, scratching his head.

A pair of arms submerged themselves from a towering pile of white foam. They wiped away a spot and there was a pair of tired looking green eyes. -_-

There was Freddy, covered in the foam. Too wary to be pissed.

'_There you are!'_

"Here I am," Fred grumbled.

'_Well?'_

"Well, what?"

'_Aren't you going to thank me?'_

"Thank you for making my visit a living hell, Voorhees. Thank you very much."

'_Oh, is that all? I believe I just saved your life.'_

"You're full of more shit than a New York sewer line. You know very well there was no fire."

'_There wasn't? Huh. My mistake. I wonder why you were yelling…oh…'_

Freddy nodded.

'_Oh…' _Jason repeated. '_You're afraid of fire!'_

Freddy clapped his hands together as if praising a four year old. "Very good, Jason! You deserve a gold star!"

'_Well hey now, why should I remember anything about you anyway?' _Jason remarked.

"Knowing your enemy is the key to defeating him. Why do you think I owned your ass in '03?"

'_Did not!' _Jason thought defensively.

"Did too."

'_Did not!'_

"DID. TOO."

'_Did NOT!'_

"DID TOO!"

'_No.'_

"Yes."

'_No!'_

"Yep."

'_NOPE!'_

"YES I DID, VOORHEES!"

'_No, NO N—'_

"Enough!" Freddy interrupted. "We're getting completely off-topic. Voorhees, team up with me just this once and we can go back to hating each other."

'_Okay, and tell me why I should help you this time! I already helped you kill those brats on Elm Street. And how did you thank me? Hmm?'_

"You had to be stopped, you were a great help until you started taking all my victims, Hockey Puck!"

'_Whatever.'_

"Listen, Jason, I'll do anything."

'_Sure.'_

"I swear on…" Fred looked around the room. "That baby's life!"

The baby had already fallen asleep after crying every last tear and layed on the scratchy couch, curtain diaper still unfastened.

'_Oh, that's such a reliable promise! You tried to slaughter the poor thing no more than two minutes ago.'_

"Fine." Freddy took out a pocket-sized hardcover book from the pocket of his trousers. Laying a fire-damaged hand on the cover which bared an inverted pentagram, he spoke somberly, "I, Fredrick Krueger, swear on The Bible of Theistic Satanism I will fulfill the wishes of Jason Elias Voorhees under any circumstance regarding a return in the favor of a lending hand in the destruction of Carietta N. White. No homo."

'_Wait…does that book even exist? I thought only the book of Laveyan Satanis—'_

"Not the point. Are you going through with this or not?"

Jason picked up a small notebook from the coffee table and jotted down Freddy's previous words in a jiffy (or at least along the lines of what he said.) Once he was done, Fred snatched the notepad from Jason's meaty hand and scanned his eyes over it.

"Where'd you learn to spell, Voorhees? It looks like a grammar school kid wrote this."

Jason rolled his eyes. _'Just sign your name on the dotted line and let's get the hell out of here.'_

Freddy scrawled his signature across the bottom of the page. "There. That proof enough for ya?"

'_You're good.'_

"Alright," Freddy concluded. A little afraid to know the answer, he asked, "What are your terms, Hockey Puck?

'_Simple. You're gonna help me with the kid, that is until we find it a better place to live. We're sure as hell not bringing it back to the shit-for-brains parent; we both know they couldn't give a rat's ass about their children.'_

Freddy nodded in agreement.

Jason continued. _'Caring for a baby includes giving it attention when it cries, feeding it, putting it to sleep, and of course, changing its diapers. Which I can say, you will be doing most of the dirty work.'_

"Aw, come on!" Freddy whined.

'_Agreed?'_

"Agreed," Fred grumbled without a choice.

'_Good. We have a deal.'_

Jason walked over to the baby and duct taped the curtain to its hindquarters. The baby, half asleep, didn't even stir as he placed it in the Easter basket and carried it to the door.

"Hey, Hockey Puck, I'm gonna take a shower first. I'll be out whenever."

'_Whenever? No, you'll be out in five minutes! Be quick about it!'_

Freddy flipped him off and opened the door to the bathroom.

Jason snarled but let it go. _'One more thing, Krueger.'_

"What?"

'_Quit calling me Hockey Puck.'_


	4. Chapter 4

Once they were outside, Freddy and Jason walked across the clearing (Jason considered this his front yard) and into the woods.

"Now, how are we going to get from Camp Crystal Lake, New Jersey to Chamberlain, Maine?" Freddy pondered aloud.

'_Don't ask me, Krueger. It was your idea. Why not just show up in that Carrie White bitch's dreams and kill her?'_

"Well, there are two issues with that logic, H.P. First off, Carrie brings her powers into her dreams. If you'd use that chewed up piece of crap that's what left of what you might call a brain now and again, you'd probably realize I've attempted that already. I'm Freddy fuckin' Krueger, of course I'm going to annihilate a target through their dreams, or at least try to. Didn't exactly work out, now did it?"

Jason grimaced beneath his mask. _'I thought we were done through the name calling by now, there's no need to be a dick. If I were in your situation, I'd keep my mouth shut. I have the contract in my jacket pocket, and I can choose to tear it up at any time I want and forget our little conversation. Kapeesh?'_

"Alright, don't get all ass-hurt. I'm sorry, Voorhees. Sheesh. As I was saying, secondly, I don't have the option of dragging you into the dream that easily. We're traveling old school."

'_Can't we jus steal a couple of tranquilizer syringes from the hospital up the road, put me to sleep, and meet Carrie in the dream world?'_

"It's not that simple, H.P," Freddy explained. "With a distance of over a thousand miles, I can't jump into another's nightmare. It just won't work that way. The two of you would have to be in a 20 mile radius to share a nightmare in my boiler room. Why do you think I always stick to good old Elm Street?"

'_Umm, it's where you were murdered and that makes it your territory to haunt and kill?'_

"That and, it's a small area with a good population."

'_Ah. So…what's up with you calling me H.P? I'm no computer.'_

"You said I couldn't call you Hockey Puck, so I abbreviated it. That's not the same thing."

'_Yes it is, P.F.'_

"Let's just stop with the nicknames! We're starting to sound like a couple of queers!"

'_You started it.'_

Freddy changed the subject. "How much longer till we get into town?" he asked, as the leaves crunched under their feet and starlight led them to a wide dirt path.

'_About ten miles. Why?'_

"Shit!" Fred spat, kicking a rock into the bushes beside him. "It'll take forever to walk that distance and carjack someb—I mean hail a cab…"

'_Who said we were walking all the way into town? I've got a better plan,' _Jason secretly smirked.

They passed under the wooden arch at the end of the path, painted in white letters: "CAMP CRYSTAL LAKE." They could hear the rush of cars fairly close to them. The highway was just ahead, about fifty yards. Blindingly lit headlights broke through the trees and a loud truck zoomed by. It got quiet again once that cluster of vehicles went by.

Freddy cleared his throat and questioned gruffly, "What's your plan, genius?"

'_Oh, you'll see.'_

Freddy had a bad feeling about how Jason thought those words. The baby stirred around in the basket and Jason looked down as he walked, about twenty feet from the highway. The infant's fingers, smaller than baby carrots, curled around the loose straw from the rim of the basket. Jason neared the edge of the road and Freddy lingered ten feet behind.

"Hey, wait up!"

Jason was at least two feet taller than Freddy, with longer legs so he took bigger steps.

"You walk too fast, Hockey Puck!"

Jason crossed the double yellow line and stood at the edge of the road, feet rooted to the ground. Fred caught up with him, out of breath from running.

'_I told you to quit calling me that,' _Jason thought grumpily. 'Here.' Jason picked up a rock next to his foot and handed it to Freddy.

"Gee, I don't know what to say," he responded with fake enthusiasm and tossed it aside. "You sure are cheap with gifts."

Jason bristled with irritancy. "Pick that back up, you'll need it."

A grumble of an old engine sounded in the distance, they heard it round the bend and the break of its headlights shown in the killers' eyes. The sputtering automobile inched closer to them.

'_Hurry up!' _ Jason mentally exclaimed. _'Pick up that rock, it's getting closer. It's now or never!'_

Jason knew not many people drove out to Camp Blood, and not many who drove past it either. Word had gotten out and only the special ones got to be his victims. The special ones were 5% ambition, 5% bravery, and 90% stupidity and a bit too much pride. They were having a bit of luck and he did not want to lose it.

Fred picked up the rock and clenched it nervously. "What am I supposed to do with this damn thing?"

'_You know what to do.' _

"Are you crazy, Voorhees?"

'_On the count of three. One…'_

"You lost your marbles, you old lunatic!"

'_Two…'_

The truck came into better view. They could tell it was a slightly rusty pick up truck.

"Wait a minute! WAIT! We can't just—"

'_Three!' _Jason commanded. The truck was now parallel to the both of them and Freddy impulsively chucked the stone at the window. CRASH! It shattered the glass and they heard a following sickening crack.

"SON OF A BITCH!" The murderers heard a raspy man's voice scream as the truck's brakes squealed to a stop, barely missing the sharps of glass that almost popped the front tires. The truck's engine revved and stopped when the traumatized driver's hand turned of with the ignition with one key, not even attached to a ring. The slashers stood side by side, watching the middle aged man, who was still gripping the steering wheel shakily in pure shock and anger. Blood seeped down his stubbly chin and onto his overalls.

"We've done it now, H.P."

The mustached truck driver with five o'clock shadow turning into a beard stepped out of his truck and slammed the door. The bits of window that remained rattled in their frame. Then, under the moonlight, they could see he was older then they thought. The top of his scalp was thinning, and his hair was a silvery grey. He was also overweight, sporting a beer gut and double chin.

"Someone's getting their ass kicked!" the old hillbilly bellowed as he walked over to Freddy and his hockey masked "pal."

Fred stood fearlessly; slightly humored he'd put such a damper on the redneck's nighttime drive. The injured truck driver stepped closer to Freddy and looked him up and down disrespectfully, eyeing his shabby Christmas sweater.

"JUST WHAT IN THE SAM HECK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOIN'? You ugly bastards are lucky I don't keep my shotgun in my truck, or I'd blow both your brains out right now!"

"Allow me to introduce myself. The name's Fr—"

"YOU THINK I GIVE A RAT'S ASS WHO YOU ARE? You dun just about broke my jaw back there!" the country hick spat, a broken coffee stained tooth hitting the ground after it fell from his bloody mouth. "First, you and your goalie here are going to pay for my medical bill. Second, I'm suing for every penny you got. If you don't show up in court and pay your fines, I'll have to get a warrant out for your arrest and get your drunken asses thrown in the slammer!"

"Oh? Is that what you think?" Freddy smiled sourly, his temper rising to the top.

"That's what I _know, _son," he said with emphasis on every word. He scrunched up his nose. "What the fuck happened to your face? Aint seen anything like it. I'll bet your own mother can't even stand looking at that hideous thing. May the Good Lord bless your soul. You MUST be a spawn of the devil."

Freddy seethed with the pain of an emotional scab torn off. That hurt, big time.

"As a matter a fact, I am, tubby. And I'm here to do the devil's work. May you rest in Satan's bingo parlor for eternity. Happy burning, grandpa!" and with that, Fred raised a gloved hand and slashed the man's throat. A thick line was drawn and spilled burgundy blood onto his plaid flannel shirt as he gasped and gurgled and dropped to the ground. Freddy let out an evil cackle as the aged, country sidewinder twitched around and died, leaving a puddle of crimson fluid spilled onto the road.

"I never liked Christians," he muttered and hacked a loogie at the corpse. His eyes were glazed over with death, and he lied on the pavement like a beached fish. Jason inhaled the corpse scent and shuddered in ecstasy, like a crack addict snorting the White Rabbit.

'_Nothing like fresh road kill, huh Pizza Face?'_

"You said it, H.P." Fred stuck out his fist for a knuckle-touch.

Jason let this one nickname slide and the two killers smashed fists. They then studied the truck more closely. It was an old Chevy that desperately needed a new paint job. It was a faded sky blue in color and very chipped, especially around the trim. Both of them got into the crappy pick up truck after Jason stepped over the hillbilly, dead as a doornail, and took the driver's seat. He carried the sleeping baby in its basket and set it between him and Fred.

That child was_ still_ asleep through the entire racket. When that baby slept, it SLEPT, like a log. Freddy was surprised Jason hadn't checked to see if the boy was still alive. He found the key lying on the dashboard and started the Chevy, and the engine sputtered to life. Freddy remembered the shattered window remains.

"Watch it, there's broken glass," he warned. "We can't afford a busted tire, Voorhees."

'_No worries, I got this.'_

Jason pulled the gear shift into reverse. Then he slowly backed up away from the glass pieces and changed to a steadier pace. He kept backing up the truck carefully until he reached a turn-off. Gripping the steering wheel, Jason spun it to the right and turned the truck around after he shifted into drive. Then he hit the gas pedal with more force and they were speeding (more like moderately fast, but speeding for the beat up truck) down the highway. Jason found a switch and turned on the headlights. They were good to go. (At least for now.)

"Wow, Voorhees," Freddy praised, "where'd you learn to drive?"

Here came a trip down memory lane. _'When I was nine years old,' _Jason explained, _'one of the counselors at the camp taught me. He'd give me driving lessons during free-time hours without anyone knowing. Used his girlfriend's car,' _he snickered in thought, '_so his own wouldn't get wrecked in case I messed up and rammed into a tree. It was a nice one: about a year old, mint condition Hearse. Shows how much he cared about her. To her luck though, I was a quick learner and followed every bit of advice he gave. Could have left that old camp years ago, but it's home to me. Besides, too many memories are left there; even the bad ones.' _Jason felt a bit misty-eyed. He blinked the tears away and continued. _'Point is, once you learn something, you never forgot. That, and not all the counselors at Camp Crystal Lake were all-bad.'_

Freddy took all of this in. "Huh. Well what d'ya know?" he murmured. He adjusted the brim of his fedora and turned on the radio. It was set on a country station, playing "Chicken Fried."

Fred rolled his eyes, now turquoise in the dim lighting. "Figures," he muttered and clicked the dial through five different stations which blared the white noise of static. Finally he found a clear station, but to his pity, it was Spanish. The Mexican tune of trumpets and an acoustic guitar nearly rotted his ears.

'_No,' _Jason thought in boredom.

Freddy turned the dial again and there was the sound of 70's music, very hippie-like in essence. Possibly an old hit of The Beatles.

'_No.'_

Fred changed it again, keeping the dial turning through FM channels. Two more static stations. Then some upbeat, alternative/power punk song from a boy band.

'_NO.'_

Freddy flipped through all the stations: not a clear sound coming in, not even at 90.1. He turned the dial a little more and in came some pop song on KHOP. Jason and Fred exchanged worried glances. They both hated pop with its non-instrumental noise and meaningless lyrics. And worse yet, to their horror, it was Kesha.

Her edited voice rang in their ears awfully, and even though the sound was diluted and fuzzy because of the altitude, Jason knew that blood-curdling melody from anywhere. The campers played it on full blast when they partied and drank and smoked dope. These were the ones that got their stereos smashed to bits and died very painful deaths following suit.

'_No. Just no. NO, NO, AND hell to the NO! Turn that crap off!' _Jason thought loudly (if thoughts could ever be loud, his surely was). He tensed his broad shoulders. Freddy shut it off in a flash.

"Music's gone to shit these days!"

'_You can say, that again, man.' _ Then Jason remembered another audio tape he took from the same couple that let him "borrow" their Alice Cooper tape and stereo. They were so kind as to let their killer have their music for free. (Of course one doesn't have much of a say in matters if murdered and dead.) Too bad they couldn't be spared; they were probably the only ones around Camp Blood besides him. He pulled out a cassette from his tattered jacket pocket labeled "Mixed Metal," and found the tape cassette slot. He pushed it in, keeping one hand on the wheel, and pressed play.

"What's this, Voorhees?" Freddy asked, hoping for the best.

The tape started, the sound of heavy metal healing their attuned ears. The song broke into a scream, the voice of a lead singer that could only belong to…Slayer. The ingenious lyrics began, and both of the killers knew it. Angel of Death. A smile brightened up Fred's face and turned into a grin.

"No fuckin' way, Hockey Puck. No. Fuckin'. Way. I haven't heard this song in ages!"

Jason returned a smile behind his mask. "Guess we have the same taste in music, huh Krueger?"

"Guess so, Hockey Puck. Err, Voorhees. Sorry I keep calling you that."

"Ehh, I'm kinda getting used to it anyway, Pizza Face."

**Quick author's note: How do you guys like the story so far? I won't beg for reviews, but it'd be nice if you could leave me your feedback I'm working on the proceeding chapter and I'd like it to be fairly lengthy like the last two. I'm also working on the upcoming chapter of my other work-in-progress: "Master." If you're a Jason fan and don't mind a good amount of smut laced with yummy BDSM, I suggest you check it out. Be patient, please and thank you! Also, I didn't mean to offend any religious people out there or fans of a specific music genre…it's all the characters speaking. Best regards, and hope you enjoyed the read!**


	5. Chapter 5

Freddy and Jason had been driving for over an hour, and went through the entire mixed tape. They listened to a few more hits from Slayer, Lamb of God, Dio, Megadeth, Danzig, and Nightwish. By the time they got to This is the End by Society 1 Freddy's neck was sore from headbanging. To his luck, it was the last track.

Jason's ears rang and the quiet drone of the truck's engine was a welcomed relief after the tape stopped.

"Man, that was great. Have any more mixed tapes, Voorhees?" Freddy beamed.

_'Nah, sorry Krueger. I have one more tape but I left it back at the cabin.'_

"Damn!" Freddy grumbled. He drummed his fingers on the glovebox for a while in boredom. "Well, now what? We've been driving for who knows how long, and we're still in the middle of nowhere!"

_'Calm down, I'm working on it. There's got to be civilization somewhere out here...'_

Fred sighed and absentmindedly opened the glovebox. He rummaged through it and found a coffee stained map. "Just like his ugly teeth," Fred mumbled.

After that there were used toothpicks, cigar stubs, an empty snuff can, an old car magazine, and in the very back..Freddy saw a wallet.

He snatched it out and tore through the pockets. There were scratched out lottery tickets and countless receipts, but no credit card.

"Does this man keep anything in his car besides junk?"

Then he opened up the lips of the wallet and saw green. Glorious green.

Fred's face lit up like a child's face on Christmas morning. "Hey Hockey Puck, care to meet George Washington? How about president Lincoln?" He took out the money and flipped through every bill. He saw 20's, 50's, even 100's. "How about Grant? Jackson? Benjamin fuckin Franklin?" He howled with laughter and slapped Jason on the shoulder.

_'Freddy, what the hell is up with y-' _Jason stopped mid-thought when he saw the wad of cash in Fred's hand. He smirked behind his mask. Jason wasn't exactly greedy, but didn't mind having a grand or two saved up for emergencies. This was perfectly convenient. He took one hand off the wheel and held it out for a low-five. Fred smacked Jason's hand and grinned.

_'How much?'_

Freddy did a quick calcuation of everything. It was a whopping sum of...

"5k."

Jason nodded, satisfied with how much money that old hillbilly left in his truck. Just for them, he thought. Dumbasses who didn't trust banks were a Godsend.

"Say hello to a year's supply of pornos, Jason. You a classic playboy fan or more of an S&M junkie?"

_'First of all, you're disgusting. Second, we're not blowing our money on porn. We're stocking up on baby food, formula, and diapers before anything. Then maybe some decent clothes for the both of us. This isn't doing it, Fred. We need to blend in. Are you retarded? When you find five thousand dollars in someone's truck you don't blow it on crumby pornography!'_

"Hockey Puck, I'm going to remind you one more time. You _really _need to learn how to take a joke. Of course I'm not blowing the money of porn! I've got plenty of bitches to satisfy my needs."

Jason shook his head in disgust. _'Rapist.'_

"Unwilling makes it all the more fun, MAMA'S BOY!"

Just as Jason was about to knock Freddy senseless, he saw lights. There were buildings; open businesses. Wendy's, Abbey Carpet, and even an outlet mall. He could make out an exit that was coming up to their right.

_'As much as I'd love to fight, it looks like we're making our first stop, Krueger.'_

Freddy noted the exit sign and clapped his hands together. "Now we're talkin'. Bout fuckin' time."

Jason noticed the needle on the dashboard was nearly pointing to E. He'd be out of gas soon.

_'Just in time.'_ he thought happily. Everything was going smooth.

When they got into town, they passed by a small fountain in front of an office building. They were driving down a main road with multiple restaurants and stores. Finally, Jason found a Shell sign and pulled into the gas station, making sure the side of the truck with the gas tank was facing pump #4.

He got out of the truck and walked around to the passenger side, flipping open the small door that went to the gas tank. He unscrewed the cap and stuck the nozzle of the gas pump into the truck, setting the machine to 20 gallons. Jason looked at Fred through the empty space where the window was shattered. _'I'm going into the store to buy some jerky. You want anything?'_

"I haven't seen my friend Jack Daniels in a while. Care to bring him over?"

Jason gave him a blank look. _'Huh?'_

"Just get me some booze, Hockey Puck. I'm dyin' here!"

The masked murderer rolled his eyes and snatched the wad of cash that was still in Freddy's hand. Jason disappeared into the store and Freddy looked down at the baby who stirred around and slowly opened his twinkling eyes.

"Hey sleeping beauty. You've been out for 2 hours. Have a nice nap?" Freddy mumbled as if the baby could understand. "You could sleep through the war in Iraq, couldn't you?"

Then the infant picked at the straw on the basket and started fussing. "What's wrong? Need a diaper change?" Freddy chuckled. Then the baby scrunched up his tiny face and wailed to the top of his lungs, screaming and raving Freddy's ears out.

Freddy slid his fedora over his eyes nervously and tapped his knee in frustration. "Come on kid, not now..." The baby sobbed louder and tears streamed down his face in torrents. Fred shuffled around with more nervousness and looked through the space the shattered window left. A plump woman pumping gas into a Toyota minivan gave him a dirty look. The baby was making an awful racket.

Freddy clawed out his razored hand and tried shushing the distressed child. He waved his silver claws wildly, looking like a maniac. "Shhh! Jason Junior, pipe down! It's gonna be okay!I'll give you a cookie if you shut up," he growled through grit teeth.

The heavy set lady seemed to get angrier and frightened, striding over to the truck with a scowl.

"Great," Fred murmured.

She stopped at the shattered window hole and put her hips on her hips, already out of breath from walking no more than ten feet. "Just what in the hell do you thi..."

She saw Freddy's silver blades and deformed complexion and stopped in her tracks. Her jaw gaped open.

"Now hold on lady, it's not what you think..." Fred started.

"SOMEONE HELP! THIS MAN IS TRYING TO MURDER A BABY! HELP!" the woman shrieked to the top of her lungs.

"Crap." Freddy scowled and tapped his foot in anxiety, waiting for Jason to hurry the hell up.

Jason came just in time, flinging open the glass doors to the convenient store with a plastic bag in his hand.

Freddy hollered out the window to his masked partner in crime, "Hockey Puck! Get in the truck! Step on it!"

Jason scratched his head in confusion and stood there like a dunce.

"NOW!" Freddy screamed.

Jason strode over to the truck as fast as he could and got in the driver's seat, slamming the door. _'Dude, what the fuck?'_

The obese drama queen kept making a scene, and more people started crowding around the truck.

"GET HIM!" she wailed, the fat on her arm jiggling like pudding as she jerked it towards Freddy.

"Floor it!" Fred yelled.

Jason started the Chevy with a rusty "VROOM" and stomped the gas pedal, running over people in his way. The bodies crunched under the wheels, and the ride was bumpy until he got over the mass of dying bodies and sped out of the lot. His stocky arms shook with adrenaline and his masked eyes were wide open in shellshock. In seconds he was zipping down the highway. He wondered what trouble Freddy would get them into next.


End file.
